


Verified

by DeepCycle



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alien Sex, F/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 22:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13511142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeepCycle/pseuds/DeepCycle
Summary: Verity's desires get the better of her.





	Verified

**Author's Note:**

> Occurs shortly after Sins of the Wreckers.

Verity lay in bed, the gray light of the Alaskan pre-dawn morning filtering through the window.

Naked under the flannel sheets and heavy down comforter.

She had stroked the aching nub for what felt like ages, slick and swollen with desire, but it wasn’t enough. Tortured by emptiness, gripping nothing, she needed more.

She needed him.

She needed Springer.

Her desire was powerful enough to silence all questions that should have kept her under the covers. How would he respond? Would he accept her into his bed? Would he have what she needed? None of it surfaced as she slipped out of bed, the chill air raising goose bumps on her bare skin, and she slipped out of her room and into the hall.

She paused at the open door of Springer’s room, watching and listening. His holomatter avatar was turned away from the door on his side, long slow breaths indicating that he was still asleep. She took a deep breath, stepped into the room, crossed the floor, and slid under the covers.

He remained still as she pressed herself against his back, pleased to find him minimally dressed, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. She ran a hand over his shoulder and across his chest, fingers threading through the sparse hair that covered the muscled pecs. It wasn’t until her fingertips reached his nipple, circling it gently until it hardened, when he finally responded. He rolled into her, eyes still half-closed with slumber. “Verity?”

“Springer…” She pressed into his side, brought her lips to the side of his head, kissing him at the hairline of his temple. She ran her hand down his midriff, the feel of rippling abdominal muscles against her palm making her ache even more for him. She whispered against his ear. “I need you…”

Eyes fully open now, he took a deep breath. “Ok…”

Spurred on by his acceptance, she slid her hand lower and gripped him through his shorts, delighted to find that he did indeed have what she needed, and did indeed appear responsive. She brought her lips closer, lightly taking the lobe of his ear between them, then gently ran her tongue along the lobe. He hardened in the grip of her hand, and as she hoped, he dematerialized the shorts entirely, rendering himself as naked as she.

Verity ran her hand along his flesh, determining what exactly she was dealing with.

He was, of course, enormous.

Her long fingers couldn’t quite close around his girth, which widened further still at the tip before tapering to an end at navel-height on his 6’2” frame. Unable to hold herself back any longer, she climbed on top of him as he lay on his back, grinding her aching flesh against his tip, sliding along his considerable length, covering him with the wetness of her desire, knowing he must be properly prepared if she was to have any hope of full penetration. She marveled at the body beneath her, deep-set blue eyes gazing up at her, the shadow cast over his throat by his sharp jaw line, broad shoulders narrowing to lean hips that disappeared beneath her thighs.

He slid his hands from her knees up to her hips, long fingers spread wide. She planted her fists just above his shoulders and leaned forward. “Is this ok for you?”

“Yeah, it’s fine…” he blinked. “I just… I think I know what to do.” He slid his hands up to her shoulders. “Tell me if I do something wrong or you want something different, ok?”

“Good.” She lay flat against him now, crushing her breasts against his chest, writhing her hips against his, panting as she slid the tight wetness of her opening all over him, stroking against his tip only for it to deflect up and against her clitoris. His hands slid gently over the curve of her butt, up into the hollow of her back, fingertips stroking her spine, then back down, over her tailbone, up the curve, down to her upper thighs, always pulling in, always encouraging.

His grip tightened around her and he rolled over, positioning her beneath him. He brought his lips to just below her ear, then kissed along her jaw to the other side of her face, then brought his mouth to hers, his lips covering hers in an urgent but gentle kiss. Following her lead, he rocked his hips into hers, sliding himself against her, letting her wetness cover him, teasing, not yet trying to penetrate her.

She wrapped her legs around him, sliding her hands up his ribs to his muscled shoulders, part of her relishing the feel of his weight upon her, the feel of his flesh pinned between their bodies, another part of her screaming in claustrophobic terror, battling off the instinct to push away. She endured for several moments, hoping for the first part of her to win, until she could stand it no longer. She pushed against his shoulders and he broke the kiss, pausing his movement, deep blue eyes searching hers for answers to the questions that he did not know how to ask.

“Don’t kiss me on my mouth… I’m sorry.”

He brought a hand to the side of her head, gently running his thumb along her eyebrow. “Don’t be sorry. Anyplace else I shouldn’t do that?”

She considered. “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll let you know.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Ok.”

“I’d rather be on top.”

“Done.” He lowered himself to her and rolled back over.

Freed from his weight, she pressed herself against him once more. She brought herself up on one hand, using the other to once more stroke herself as she repositioned more purposely against him. Unable to loosen the grip of her core, she gently rocked back into him, feeling the pressure of him at her entrance, feeling the lips of her opening part around him, feeling the trembling of her own resistance against him. “Are you ready?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah.” His voice rasped over the words, strained but gentle.

“Try to get inside me. Slowly.”

He removed his right hand from her hip and wrapped it around his shaft to steady himself. Then he rocked his hips into her in short, slow thrusts, up and back, up and back, not making any progress to start, but probing, seeking, stretching, letting her get used to his size. Finally, she could feel him gaining depth, pressing her open, then closing again as he pulled back, a little deeper each time, in and back, until finally the head was almost inside, the wide ridge of him stretching her open, and finally he was in, trapped as she closed around him.

She trembled at the feel of his tip inside of her, magnified as she drew her finger over her clitoris, the pulling sensation as he tried to back out, caught by her grip. She groaned as he finally pulled free, the ridge of his flesh pulling her open, then back in again, again and again, the widest part of him in and out and through the tightest part of her.

Finally, she could stand it no longer and slid him deeper, short, slow thrusts, in and back, gaining a little more depth each time. She cried out when he reached her G-spot, pausing in that space, relishing how that incredible ridge pushed and dragged against the inside of her. Then deeper again, longer strokes now, until he filled her completely.

She had taken almost all of him, enough length left for her to rock ever so gently more, stretching to her limit, feeling every inch of him trembling in every inch of her, rippling all around him, as she felt her orgasm approach.

His hands roamed her body, sliding up from her hips to her small breasts, cupping the firmness of each one against his palms, thumbs gliding tenderly over her nipples, already hard with desire.

Slowly, she pulled off of him, her body screaming as she felt him drag back, leaving her empty. One more brief stretch and he was out entirely. She paused for a moment, feeling the pounding ache of her clitoris, crying out when it was finally unbearable, and impaled herself upon him once more, one long thrust this time, all the way in, grinding against him at the end. Again she pulled off, groaning as the ridge of his penis pulled against her G-spot, sending sparks through her entire body. Back and in, out, then all the way back in, grinding hard. “Springer… oh, Springer….” She could not help herself from crying his name as she felt herself come closer and closer to the edge.

Orgasm finally gripped her and she rode him in short, hard thrusts, every contraction magnifying the space he displaced within her, turning him to hot stone as she thrashed her tortured, impaled body against him.

At last, satisfaction swept over her and she sank down to him.

And then she woke up.

Startled, she sat up to find herself still in her own bed, having taken her pajamas off and brought herself to orgasm in her sleep. Realizing what had just happened, she collapsed back under the covers, listening in the darkness, wondering how much noise she had made, wondering if she’d woken Springer up.

Good god, where had _that_ come from?

She took a moment to contemplate her feelings for the Cybertronian as contentment settled in her body, allowing for saner thought.

She didn’t really want Springer… did she?

She hadn’t wanted _anyone_ in… well, ever, really. She’d thought that part of her had perished long ago, a victim of abuses she had no desire to revisit. As dangerous as Cybertronians were, as steeped in warfare as they were, as violent as they were, the worst they would ever do to her was kill her. Getting shot was likely; getting squished by accident was equally likely. Either one of those likelihoods was all fair game in the name of interplanetary war and nothing to be taken personally, and she was far more comfortable with the fates she would suffer at the hands of Cybertronians than those she had already suffered at the hands of humans. That she preferred the company of giant alien robots over other human beings was therefore of no great surprise.

Ultra Magnus and the Wreckers had given her everything she had ever needed. Shelter, sustenance, and stability. Magnus was nothing if not predictable, and after life on the run on her homeworld, that predictability in the face of an unraveling universe had proven to be the greatest comfort she had ever known. Even Springer was predictable in his own ways; relentless in nearly all things, from Completing The Mission to Finding The Right Path, he was the consummate model of getting things done the right way.

For as long as she had known him, anyway. Which, admittedly, was a relatively tiny portion of his life.

Regardless, she knew with absolute certainty that she was safe with him. That he would guard her life with his own. Even when he had been brought out of the sky by Carnivac, force-transformed in midair, he’d reached for her, had somehow managed to break her fall in a crash-landing from an altitude of 300 feet, clutched her to his chest as they both lay paralyzed in the snow, Carnivac circling them with dubious intent. Even at such a vulnerable moment, he had done everything in his power to protect her.

Springer was safe.

Sex wasn’t safe.

But… sex with Springer?

Her dreamtime imagination had conveniently filled in all the gaps. That he would have the equipment and know what to do with it. That he would consent to it. She thought it worth noting that her dream had not included much indication of him enjoying it beyond maintaining an erection and some amount of active participation. She could forgive herself her use of him as a tool in a dream she had no control over, but the possibility that he actually wouldn’t get much out of it was real, and she would not use him.

Not unless he wanted it, anyway.

And would he? It seemed unlikely. His discomfort with the holomatter avatar had been obvious. He always frowned when he looked at his hands. He would often cast an anxious glance through the window at his real self parked outside. He didn’t like being a squishy. And all the squishiness that went into having sex with one… well… she didn’t see that going over well with him. He had taken a human-like form for her protection, but she was still an alien to him. She would be wise to remember that.

She pulled her pajamas back on and curled up under the covers, closing her eyes. It was probably just as well. She liked things just fine as they were. In her relaxed state, sleep reclaimed her with ease.

Springer lay on his back in his room across the hall, wide awake, proximity sensors having been tuned for any unusual sounds or motion within the confines of the cabin. He eased off of stand-by-alert as he listened to Verity settle back down. Her unusual breathing had triggered his alarm; sensing no other signatures, he’d stayed put, knowing that it wasn’t unusual for humans to do weird things in their sleep. It wasn’t until she’d uttered his name that he’d figured out what was really going on, and he thanked Primus for the decision to not go and check on her.

He stared at the ceiling in the dark, pondering. He didn’t know much about Verity’s history before she’d fallen in with the Wreckers, but the signs of past abuse were remarkably similar across species and he knew them when he saw them. Picking at her food when he knew she was hungry. Thin, horizontal scars on the inside of her upper left arm. Not to mention the whole stowing-away-to-a-battle-that-should’ve-killed-her thing. Kids didn’t leave their own planet to live with aliens fighting a war lasting millions of years because things were going well for them. He’d known from the start that she required careful handling.

This new development didn’t necessarily mean anything. He knew that human dreams were even more chaotic and random than Cybertronian ones. The fact that Verity had incorporated him into one where she’d also had an orgasm was probably as unsettling to her as it was to him. He closed his eyes, deciding to leave it alone unless she brought it up. Knowing she wouldn’t.

Hoping she wouldn’t.


End file.
